the perfection of my frailty
by Sorde
Summary: Sarah gets shot. Chuck goes against the grain and freaks out.


I posted this on LJ a couple days ago and didn't really plan to post it here, but... I made some minor changes and decided to, I suppose. xD I've been planning to write a one-shot about either Sarah or Chuck getting shot, and six weeks of deprivation has made this sucker come about. Hiatus does crazy things to us all.

Any mistakes are mine.

**Disclaimer: **I don't, unfortunately, own _Chuck_. Or the title/lyrics below, for that matter; credits for lyrics goes to Hedley.

* * *

_The perfection of my frailty  
has been questioned and broken.  
_

The mission is supposed to be easy as hell: an 'in-and-out', as Chuck affectionately calls it, and, once Morgan's mandatory quip about the name and something to do with belly buttons exits his mouth, they go out, guns drawn.

It's an old, relatively nondescript building, big red bricks lining the walls and a front door made of wood, the kind of building normal human beings don't associate with secret spies and guns. Morgan and Casey are stuck in the car and Chuck notices, when he looks back, Morgan giving him a thumbs up and Casey looking as though somebody very recently shot him in the toe.

"Well, this looks ominous," Chuck mutters and Sarah glances sideways at him, a half-grin playing on the edges of her mouth.

"You getting cocky, Chuck?" Her voice is playful, and that's what gives it away: this mission_ is_ going to be easy as hell.

(It's always the easy ones that go wrong.)

/

He makes light conversation; it's what he does.

"So, Week Two in to Awesome Parenting and Devon already looks like... well, is a Casey comparison too harsh?"

"Captain Awesome looking like John Casey? I didn't realize you hated your brother-in-law, Chuck," she banters, nudging him affectionately with one shoulder.

A grunt comes through, a little staticky, in their earpieces.

"And by '_looking like John Casey_', what I really mean is... Tired?" There's no response from the other end of the line, so he tries again. "Charming is clearly the word I'm looking for."

There's a giggle to his left, and a growled, "Bartowski, call me charming one more time and you will never be able to get my foot out of your ass," in his right ear.

He switches off his earpiece after that.

(After all, it _is_ an easy mission.)

/

They're still climbing through the vents when Sarah asks him how he's feeling about the whole niece situation.

"Good. _Good_," he emphasizes, glancing at her out of the corner of his eye. He treads carefully when Sarah brings up family, and the square jewelery box that's been pressing into the pocket of his Buy More jacket for two weeks now is suddenly more _present._ "She's... adorable. I can't believe Ellie had a baby_._" And then, even though he's pushing his luck, he adds, "How are _you_ feeling?"

"She's... uh... Ellie's..." For a second, it looks like the babbling is too much for her to bear and she's going to close off, but then: "She looks like you," Sarah finally finishes lamely, darting her eyes in the opposite direction. He knows that look. (Of course he does.)

If this were dodgeball, the stupid little red ball would be coming at his face right now, so he does the patented Chuck Bartowski duck-and-weave. "If she gets facial hair, though, we have a pretty serious problem." He's good at changing subjects, now, and she brushes her arm against his gratefully.

"If she gets facial hair, she may very well be Morgan Grimes' son."

"Thanks for _that _mental picture, Sarah." Once his head is adequately shaken and the mental picture apparently out of his head, he adds, "But if she's really short..."

An obscure snort escapes and he grins at her affectionately. A second later, they reach their destination and he gestures gallantly down the hole.

"My, aren't you a gentleman," she murmurs.

"And they say chivalry is dead."

/

Of course, when they leap down, they're surrounded.

There's at least ten of them, but it looks like fifty to Chuck, swarming around them with huge guns wrapped around their shoulders, and they're all _massive._

A man, probably the perfect height (if he's trying to make his way onto the kiddie rides at the amusement park), pushes his way through the pack. He looks like the stereotypical nerd - and Chuck doesn't bestow that honour on just anyone - with glasses on the end of his nose, white button-down shirt neatly pressed and tucked into his pants, a thin layer of grease in his hair.

"Looking for this, Agents Carmichael and Walker?" he says, holding up the focus of their entire mission - a small, rotating flat disk on a sort of triangular base. It holds all the intel even the American government isn't privy to, thanks to the little hacker standing before them.

"_Easy?_" Chuck hisses to Sarah.

The nerd, Sampson Price, was factored in to the mission; the five thousand men with machine guns were not.

He flashes on some kung fu then, and nods at Sarah decisively. He reaches behind his back to grab at her hand and when they're linked, he counts down on his fingers so she can feel it.

And they both go.

/

Sarah brings down six of the giant men; Chuck brings down four, thanks to the Intersect and a little bit of pole-kicking; two of them remain, plus Sampson, and they're all shooting like crazy.

"Chuck, get _down_," Sarah hisses at him, her gun drawn, when his clip runs dry. They've ducked behind an overturned table in the office. He obeys (for the first time ever).

A second later, she peers over the table to release a round at the two guys who are slowly making their way towards the table. She has leverage on one leg, tucked neatly beneath her, the other for balance, and she pushes up with the one to get a better shot.

_Boom._

_/  
_

She's lying on the floor, eyes up at the ceiling, and there's a _crapload _of blood coming from one of her shoulders and she reaches one hand up to grab it, to cover it.

"Oh... Oh, my god, that is... that is bleeding _a lot. _That is a lot of blood and it's... it's coming out of _you_ and ohmygod Sarah there is blood coming out of you," he babbles, and rips off his jacket, presses it to the bullet wound before another round fires over his head and he drops it. Almost as though it's coming through a filter, he hears them - the Beast Men - nearing the table.

He doesn't flash. He just kicks, and the table knocks down the last two like bowling pins. He gives himself exactly zero-point-four seconds to gloat before returning his attentions to Sarah.

"Good one, Chuck," she grunts from his left and he grabs at her head, pulls it into his lap, doesn't even notice Sampson making a run for it.

"Sarah?"

"I'm fine, Chuck, it's not my first time." But the way her voice shakes and the way her face is unbearably _pale,_ paler than usual, whiter than the ceramic tile beneath them, gives it away.

It's only then that he thinks to turn his earpiece back on.

/

"Casey? Casey, I need you to-"

"Turn me off like that again, Bartowski, and you'll-" Casey tries, but Chuck's hands are shaking and covered in blood and that does not bode well him so he interrupts.

"Casey, Sarah was shot, and there's blood, and I need you to-"

The gruff is gone from Casey's voice, replaced by something akin to - _no, it couldn't be_ - worry? "Where?"

"What?"

"Where was she shot? Limb? Stomach?" Chuck hears a huff from the earpiece, the beginnings of an _H_, and he mentally pleads with Casey not to say head because he can't have that mental picture in his brain on top of the very real one currently swimming around.

"Uh... left... left..."

"Right shoulder, just below the deltoid," Sarah offers and he notices that she's getting a tinge green. He's briefly turned on by the fact that she knows that (he's the brother of a doctor, some of the genes were bound to reach him) before he snaps back to reality and translates the information back to Casey.

"I'm on my way."

/

He was a lifeguard for some spare change, back in high school, and although Red Cross keeps changing standard protocol, Chuck Bartowski has not forgotten how to treat bleeding things.

Bleeding _shoulders._

She tries to sit up but he pushes her back down, keeps his legs curled underneath her head, and she obeys, curls one hand around his left. He holds on for a second, squeezes, and then brings that hand up to her face, cups her chin.

The other hand grabs hold of his jacket once more and forcibly presses it in the general direction of the blood, holds it down firmly, brushes his left thumb across her face.

She's awfully pale.

/

It's his worst fear come to life, and, for just a second, he thinks he's under the influence of that toxic gas, Atroxium, again, watching Sarah get shot, but even his imagination isn't this creative.

_He can't lose her._

It's absurd that this is just coming up now, that he's known her and Casey for almost four years and nobody's ever been fatally shot, and suddenly the whole spy game seems more _real_ and he understands Ellie, because he would like nothing more than for Sarah to quit the CIA and be safe and not get shot.

Casey finally stalks in, gun drawn, Morgan behind him and trying to peer over his shoulder.

"Got yourself a nice hole there, Walker," Casey grunts as he leans down, takes Chuck's jacket off the injury site. "Looks like you get to go visit the hospital."

"Hospital? Hos- Casey, you just got patched up at Castle, and this- Is this more dangerous? Is this-"

"Calm down, Bartowski."

It's not his usual insult; he hisses it, makes it quiet enough so hopefully Sarah won't hear it but Chuck most assuredly will.

/

It was supposed to be an easy mission, so, when they finally carry Sarah out of the building, it's a car, a small black 2007 Sedan, that awaits them. She can walk - she _can_ - but Chuck insists on supporting her weight anyway, and, once they're in the car, he notices that she leans into him more than normal, puts most of her weight onto his shoulder.

He swings his arm around and hugs her close.

"Don't fall asleep, Walker," Casey warns from the front seat, eyeing her cautiously as he peels out of the parking lot. He and Chuck share a brief look in the rear-view mirror and Chuck knows that he has to be in charge of keeping her awake but, for the first time ever, his mind goes blank.

"So, uh, Sarah... nice weather we're having today."

_I should be kicked in the face. _It's all he can think of after _that _particular disaster exits his mouth.

Head against his chest, he can feel her sweat coming through his shirt and she lets out a breath, almost a laugh or a chuckle but not quite.

Casey gives him a sharp look in the mirror.

"You, uh, you feeling like a game of Scrabble when we get home? You know, just you, me, and lots and lots of tiles and words to make and it would just be a good... time..."

"You reached the Babbling Breaking Point yet?" she quips from beside him, grabs his hand.

"Ye- Yeah..." he concedes. She shifts, and he notices a very missing presence that should press against his chest when she shifts like that.

/

It turns out that he's better at distractions when he thinks about it. But still not really all that good. "So, uh, hey, good distraction time: how would you feel about... getting married?" He reaches blindly for the front seat, where his jacket rests, blood-stained but intact, careful not to jostle her.

From the driver's seat, Casey snorts. Morgan goes to give him a high five and gets his hand swatted away for his efforts.

"I'm sorry?" She finally raises her head a fraction of an inch, cradles her right arm carefully and puts all pressure on her left.

"Uh, yeah, marriage, you know, the whole she-bang... with... weddings?" Chuck runs his hands through the first pocket and extracts the box. She's got an eyebrow raised in his direction and she looks almost - _almost_ - mad, but she's _sososo_ pale and his heart constricts a little.

"You want to propose in the backseat of a CIA-issued car?" she demands, but nonetheless leans against his shoulder again.

He clears his throat carefully. "I know this isn't... what you wanted. This isn't even what I had planned, and I know that, if I was going to do it in any car, it would be your Porsche, but we're a minute-"

"Thirty seconds," Casey interrupts.

"_Thirty seconds _away from a hospital and you're probably going to have to get surgery and I've postponed this for too long and it's not _perfect_ but I don't..." He clears his throat, mumbles something akin to "mhahkghka".

"What's that?" she asks, quirks her head to one side. "I didn't quite catch the end of that sentence."

"I don't..." He clears his throat again, grabs her hand. "I don't want to lose you and wonder if... if asking would have somehow changed... things."

"Impeccable logic," Casey pipes up, but Morgan shushes him.

"Look, I'm not even down on one knee and Ellie's going to kill me when she finds out that I did it this way, but I love you and I _can't _lose you and I really, really want to marry you..." He thinks it's best to just stop talking now, while he's - well, not ahead, but he's not dead yet, and that makes a good day.

For a second, he thinks about berating himself for his lack of tact in his mental thoughts but he just gives up, avoids thinking about death entirely.

She's shaking beneath him and it takes him a second to catch on to the fact that she's laughing.

"Alright," she concedes as they pull up to the hospital, a playful grin on her face amidst a grimace of pain. "I'll marry you."

"But if you really don't want to-"

"Chuck," she demands, pulls his face down to hers. "Calm down. You're it for me, got it? And I've always known that I'd say yes because I'm too scared to lose you, but I've very recently come to terms with the notion that I want to marry you more than _anything else_."

"Okay," he amends, partially because she's kind of scary when she wants to be.

"Okay."

He puts the ring on her finger.

/

An hour later she's in surgery and he's mortified.

Awesome was on call and Ellie brought their daughter over to visit him so they're sitting on either side of him, patient as always.

Well, ish.

"Wait, you proposed in the backseat of a _car_?" Ellie screeches, eyeing the empty box in Chuck's lap.

"Not cool, bro."

"I thought she was going to die, Ellie, and I had to... I had to keep her awake somehow, right?"

"She doesn't have a head injury, Chuck, you had no obligation to keep her awake."

He throws his head against the wall behind him at that news, waits for the _thunk_, and then pulls his own hands towards his face. He _knew _that. What kind of lifeguard had he been fifteen years ago, anyway? "I just proposed to my girlfriend in the backseat of a car," he mumbles through his closed fingers.

"At least she said yes." Ellie's sympathy doesn't help.

"Although that may have just been the confusion brought on by the blood loss."

"Devon!" With a quick slap on the arm, Ellie reprimands her husband and returns to Chuck.

"You had a ring already, right? So at least she knows you were planning on it."

"She knew I was planning on it when she came across my proposal plan a few months back. Which I had to revise because she found it."

Across the room, Casey smirks.

/

She's out of surgery a few hours later, and so disoriented that she doesn't even notice, while kissing Chuck, that he slips the ring off of her finger.

/

She's released the next day and Chuck picks her up as soon as visiting hours begin. He wheels her out of the hospital carefully and throws a bigger fit when he goes over a bump than she does.

She doesn't notice the missing ring until they're in the car and she affectionately thinks to herself what a dork her fiancé really is, but then it's gone and she comments on it, half-panicked, and he just smirks.

It takes them all of five minutes to reach Casa Bartowski and Chuck quite nearly falls flat on his face in his haste to get her door open, but then it is and he offers her his arm as leverage. Glaring at him half-heartedly, she ignores it and climbs out of the car herself.

"I'm not incompetent, Chuck, I am perfectly capable of getting out of the car. _It was my shoulder._"

(That doesn't stop him from grabbing her hand when she gets out and keeping a mildly tighter grip on it than usual.)

He's not talking, and although they're awfully good at silences, she keeps fiddling with her ring finger and he knows she's stressed out. Even if she won't admit it, she's a nervous babbler, too. "Did Beckman tell you guys how long I'd have to be out of commission? I'd really like to avoid-"

They pass the fountain, and pulls her down to sit her on it, gets down on one knee, almost falls over, balances himself. She shuts up.

He clears his throat slowly, teasing her, until she nudges him impatiently and he obediently runs through his planned speech at lightning speed. "This is... Proposal: The Sequel, and how I'd really... how I originally planned it, because this is where the good stuff and the bad stuff and the will-we-won't-we stuff came to fruition, and this is where... I realized that I was in love with you and I know I've already asked, but, in the light of the last twenty-four hours, I have come to the conclusion that I can't live without you so, take two: will you marry me, Sarah Walker?"

She says yes by smacking him unceremoniously upside the head.

"Ow!"

"You made me think I'd legitimately lost the ring!"

He smirks up at her and she kisses him gently, hand groping for the ring and slipping it on when she has the chance.

/

Once they've finished playing a celebratory round of Scrabble, she falls asleep, head in his lap, while they're watching TV, and he has a hand in her hair and the other holding her right arm carefully, like he's trying to make sure she's still there.

"Easy mission," he mumbles to himself, snorts derisively because he'll never make _that _mistake again. "Everyone always underestimates the nerds."

"You can say that again," Sarah murmurs sleepily, and buries her face further into his lap.


End file.
